Page 26 of Demon Daddy's Nanny

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RIDWAN

Istand at my office window, watching shadows stretch across the courtyard below as night descends on New Solas. The image of Eva won't leave my mind - her small frame huddled against the cold stone wall, shoulders trembling.

It was purely practical. She was cold. I had a cloak. Simple math.

But the way her amber eyes widened when I draped it over her shoulders, the slight part of her lips as if she meant to protest but couldn't find the words... fuck. I grip the window frame, wings tensing against my back.

The memory plays again: her fingers curling into the thick fabric, pulling it closer. The scent of sugar and flour still clung to her skin from the kitchen. When she tilted her head up to thank me, a strand of chestnut hair had fallen loose, brushing against her flushed cheek.

I slam my palm against the wall. This is exactly what I can't afford - these thoughts, these distractions. Eva is here to care for Annalise, nothing more. I won't repeat past mistakes.

But my cloak had swallowed her smaller frame, the golden trim a stark contrast against her fair skin. She looked... right,wrapped in my colors. The thought sends an possessive surge through my chest that I immediately try to crush.

I pace the length of my office, wings rustling with agitation. The stack of reports on my desk offers no distraction - I've read the same line five times without absorbing a word. All I can see is the way Eva's shoulders relaxed under the weight of the cloak, how she unconsciously nuzzled into its warmth.

Practical. It was practical. Nothing more.

But I know I'm lying to myself. The truth burns in my chest: I wanted to see her in my cloak. Wanted to mark her with my scent, my colors, my protection. These instincts are dangerous - they lead down paths I swore never to walk again.

Yet still, the image persists: Eva, small and fierce and beautiful, wrapped in my cloak like she belongs there. Like she belongs to me.

Dawn hasn't broken when I leave my chambers, muscles stiff from a restless night. The weight of exhaustion drags at my limbs, but sleep proved an elusive enemy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.

The training yard stands empty, torches casting long shadows across packed dirt. Perfect. I strip off my formal coat, letting my wings stretch wide. The cool morning air rushes between my feathers, a welcome relief from the suffocating heat of sleepless thoughts.

I grab a practice sword, its familiar weight centering me as I move through forms that should be mindless after centuries of repetition. But today, every slash feels wrong, unbalanced. My wings snap out for balance when I stumble on a basic move I mastered as a child.

"Fuck." The sword embeds itself in a wooden post. I lean my forehead against the rough wood, breathing hard.

She's everywhere in my house now. Her scent lingers in the halls - sugar and flour and something uniquely Eva. Herlaughter echoes from Annalise's wing, a sound I haven't heard from my daughter in years. Even the kitchen staff move differently, lighter somehow, as if her presence has lifted a weight none of us realized we carried.

I rip the sword free, wood splintering. My wings arch high, casting massive shadows in the torchlight as I throw myself into a brutal sequence of attacks. Each strike should drive her from my mind. Each breath should focus only on form, on duty, on the thousand responsibilities that demand my attention.

Instead, all I can think is how she looked yesterday, teaching Annalise to braid her hair. How my daughter's face softened, guard dropping and making her look her age. How Eva's hands moved with such gentle patience, weaving silver-blonde strands while explaining the history lesson Annalise had been avoiding.

The sword clatters to the ground. I brace my hands on my knees, wings drooping. This isn't working. Nothing is working.

I drag myself back inside, wings still twitching with unspent energy. The dining hall's warmth hits me like a wall after the crisp morning air. Annalise sits at her usual place, picking at her breakfast while Eva?—

My steps falter. Eva leans close to my daughter, demonstrating something with her hands while explaining what looks like a math problem. Her hair falls in soft waves today instead of her usual strict ponytail. The sight of it loose around her shoulders makes my fingers itch.

"So if you divide here first—" Eva traces a line on the parchment, completely absorbed in her task. No hint of yesterday's encounter colors her movements or voice. She hasn't even glanced my way.

"But why can't I just solve this immediately?" Annalise's brow furrows in that way that reminds me painfully of her mother.

"Because then you'll miss—" Eva breaks off into bright laughter at whatever face Annalise makes. The sound hits me like a physical blow. "Trust me, this way is faster."

I sink into my chair, wings settling against the high back. A servant materializes with kaffo, but the rich aroma does nothing to settle the acid churning in my stomach. Eva continues chatting, her movements easy and natural as she reaches for a piece of fruit. Not a single tremor betrays any awareness of my presence.

She'd trembled yesterday. I'd felt it when I draped my cloak around her, that small shiver that had nothing to do with cold. But now? Nothing. She's completely focused on Annalise, as if I'm merely another piece of furniture in the room.

My kaffo cup hits the saucer with more force than necessary. Eva doesn't even flinch at the sharp sound. Just keeps smiling, keeps explaining, keeps being so fucking perfect with my daughter while ignoring me completely.

"Father, you're going to break something." Annalise's dry observation cuts through my thoughts.

I force my fingers to relax their death grip on the delicate porcelain. Eva finally looks up, but her expression holds only polite interest - the same she'd give any employer. No hint of yesterday's vulnerable gratitude shadows her amber eyes.

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